Scandal in Skibbereen (29 page)

Althea sat up straighter in her chair and faced the detective. “It was an accident, I swear. Last night, after I got back to the hotel and ate dinner, Nate called me on my cell. Believe me, I really didn’t know he was anywhere around here. He said he was in Ireland, not far away, and we had to meet, but he was afraid to come to the hotel in Skibbereen, said somebody might see us. So Nate suggested we meet by the river outside the hotel. I was pretty upset with him, but I agreed to meet him because I really wanted to hear his story and he refused to come to the hotel. I think it was about eleven, maybe later. There’s a dark stretch of road between that rotary thing and the hotel, and there was nobody around. I went out the back of the hotel and followed the river until I saw Nate. I was surprised at how light it was, even that late, so I felt safe enough. When I saw Nate, we sat down on the wall there and Nate explained to me about what had been going on. He was really freaked out by the gardener’s death and all the attention it was getting, and how he was pretty sure this Ray guy was involved, even though the details about the body didn’t match up. Nate said he was afraid Ray would just kill him and go home, because Nate was the only person who could connect him to the murder at the manor.”

Althea sighed and shut her eyes for a moment. “Nate told me everything he’d done and wanted to know if we could work together somehow to get away from Ray
and
get the painting, under whatever terms I wanted. He was desperate.”

“Mr. Reynolds, you told Althea about your financial difficulties?” the detective asked.

“I told her the whole story. But then Ray showed up, out of nowhere! I thought I’d been careful, but he must have guessed where I was headed and followed—I don’t know how, since I’d taken the rental car. Anyway, there he was. He’d gotten close enough to hear that we were going to double-cross him if we could, so he came at me. He didn’t count on Althea, though, and we were all struggling and somehow he went over the wall, into the river. I know I heard a splash, but by then it was too dark to see anything down by the water. We didn’t hear anything after that—he didn’t call out or anything.”

“So you just left? Did it not occur to you to get help?” Detective Hurley asked, clearly exasperated.

“He’d just tried to kill us!” Nate protested.

Detective Hurley sighed again, this time more loudly. He also raised one hand to keep Althea from speaking, which she clearly wanted to do. “What did you do next?”

“I went back to the car and drove to the hotel at Rosscarbery,” Nate said. “I was exhausted. And, as you know, I was bleeding again.”

Detective Hurley asked, “About that hotel—isn’t it rather expensive for you?”

“Damn right it is. But if I went anyplace else around here—hotel, bed-and-breakfast, or whatever—I’d stick out like a sore thumb, and Ray more than me. The Rosscarbery place was the biggest I could find, and it looked like they had plenty of people passing through, so I figured I wouldn’t be noticed. Besides, I didn’t plan to stay long—find the painting and go home, in and out. That was the plan originally. Ray kind of sneaked in—he wasn’t registered, but he was staying in the room. So this morning, practically at dawn, I stumbled in, and the snarky night clerk at the hotel got all hot and bothered about the blood on my jeans and insisted on tracking down a doctor and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And I just couldn’t fight anymore. I guess I had a fever too, some kind of infection. The doctor they found patched me up and gave me some sort of prescription for antibiotics.”

“He didn’t ask any questions about how you acquired a number of buckshot pellets?”

“No, he did not. Or if he did, I ignored him.”

Detective Hurley glanced at Sean Murphy, and Sean said quickly, “He called the guards, though, which is how we found you.”

Detective Hurley turned his attention to a nervous-looking Althea. “And you, Althea? Where did you go?”

Althea had lost all her cockiness and looked pale and small. “After all that had happened, and a couple of nights without enough sleep, and seeing that man, Ray . . . fall in, I had no idea what to do. I pulled myself together and went back to my room at the hotel, but I couldn’t sleep. After a couple of hours I went out and just walked around for a while. There was a café that was open early, so I went in and got some coffee and tried to figure out what to do next. I mean, I knew I hadn’t had anything to do with Seamus Daly’s death, but I was kind of unclear what had happened to Ray and who was responsible for it, so in the end I finally just walked up the street to the police station and said I needed to talk with someone. And you all took it from there.”

“Thank you, Althea. You did the right thing,” the detective said gravely.

“I sure hope so. What happens now?”

Detective Hurley looked at her, not unkindly. “That is not an easy question to answer. This case has been rather unusual. I need to review some things before I know whether to charge you with any crimes, or which ones. You’ll both be coming back to the station with me, and I’ll determine whether we will file any charges.”

He suddenly sat up straighter, then pulled a cell phone from his pocket. When he read the screen, he stood up and said, “Excuse me for a moment,” then walked into the hall and shut the door behind him.

Harry said suddenly, “Good God, who would have thought that dusty old painting would have caused so much trouble? Aunt Evie, how’re you doing?”

Eveline shook her head slowly. “I’m all right, dear. What a terrible thing. One man dead, another missing, all for some dry old canvas and paint. Nobody’s even looked at that painting for years.”

Detective Hurley appeared in the room again, and Maura thought he looked something like excited. “Your missing man has been found—alive.”

H
e had the attention of the room. “Ray’s not dead?” Nate said incredulously.

“Oh, thank God,” Althea said. “Where was he? And where is he now?”

“And what has he said?” Nate demanded.

The detective held up a hand. “Apparently after he fell into the river following your confrontation, he did indeed hit his head, but he didn’t lose consciousness immediately. He drifted downstream a ways and fetched up on a sandbar near Abbeystrowry and passed out, and a motorist saw him and called the station. He was taken to the clinic, where they found his identification in his pocket.”

“Will he be all right?” Althea asked anxiously.

“Apart from a knot on his head, he seems to have come through remarkably well. A few bumps and bruises, but otherwise in satisfactory condition. Shall I have him brought in?”

“No!” Nate said vehemently at the same time that Althea said, “Yes!”

The detective took stock of his audience. “I think it might be wise if I heard what he had to say first. He’ll be here shortly—one of my men is bringing him over.”

“Sir?” Tom O’Brien stood up and faced Patrick Hurley. “Are we in any trouble, the missus and me?”

The detective gave him a long and searching look. “Mr. O’Brien, you do realize that you tampered with a crime scene and disposed of the murder weapon. Those are serious offenses,” the detective replied.

Tom dipped his head, not meeting Detective Hurley’s eyes. Florence looked scared.

“You acted to protect Miss Townsend, even if your motives were misguided. And I don’t see the two of you turning to a life of crime.”

Tom looked up then, puzzled for a moment, then said, “No, sir, not likely.”

“Then you’re free to get on with your jobs. And either dispose of that shotgun properly or see to it that you register it.”

“Thank you, sir.” He glanced briefly at Florence. “I’ll go to the front and wait for your man—the locks can be tricky.” He exited as fast as he could.

“Detective?” Eveline said softly. “I fear all this excitement has been rather wearing. If you don’t mind, I think I might like to lie down for a bit.” When Harry looked concerned, she added quickly, “Don’t worry, I’m just tired, and perhaps a bit sad, nothing more. But I see nothing to be gained from my meeting this man who may have killed Seamus.”

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Miss Townsend,” Detective Hurley said gravely. “I apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused you.”

“It was my pleasure, Detective. I hope you’ll call on me again, when this whole awful episode is closed. Florence, would you mind seeing me to my room now?”

“Of course.” Florence O’Brien helped Eveline out of her chair, and they made their slow way to the door and disappeared.

Detective Hurley watched her departure. “A charming woman.”

“She is that,” Harry said, with something like wonder. “How long before your man arrives?”

“A few minutes, perhaps. Why?”

“You haven’t seen the painting, have you?”

The detective turned to him. “So the painting is here, in this house, after all?”

“It is, Detective,” Gillian answered for Harry. “Would you like to see it?”

Althea bounded to her feet. “Hey, I haven’t seen it yet, and neither has Nate. Can we? See it now, I mean?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in it,” the detective said.

“I’ll take you to it,” Harry said, and he led the small procession to the library and opened the door. Althea went in first, and Detective Hurley let Nate precede him, then Gillian and Maura, before following. They all clustered in the center of the room, looking up at the massive painting.

“Meet my great-great-whatever,” Harry said with a touch of pride. “Good-looking devil, isn’t he?”

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” Althea whispered. “He’s freaking gorgeous!” She took a few steps closer. “Surprisingly good condition, considering. Nate? What do you think?”

Nate was still standing and staring, his expression a mix of excitement and wistfulness, and he didn’t answer.

“Are yeh happy now, Althea?” Gillian said quietly.

Althea tore her gaze away from the painting to look at Gillian. “Yes, and I have you to thank. And Maura. I know I’m a pain in the ass, but look at it—isn’t this worth it?”

Maura looked at the painting again and wondered what it was about this piece of canvas and paint that had somehow led to Seamus Daly’s death. It didn’t seem right. But they’d finally made Althea happy, and she’d actually thanked them. That was progress.

The detective did not hurry in his inspection of the painting, but finally he said, “Thank you,” as well, to Harry, and added, “We should get back now.”

When they returned to the drawing room, a garda was keeping a close eye on a scruffy man of medium height whose clothes had clearly been soaked then dried. Tom O’Brien was watching both of them, but he stepped back when Detective Hurley entered the room, followed by Maura, Gillian, Nate, and Althea, with Sean Murphy bringing up the rear.

“Ray Finneran?” the detective asked the newcomer.

“Yeah, that’s right. What is it you want from me? Those two there”—he pointed to Nate and Althea—“they almost killed me last night. Have you arrested them?”

“We are still gathering information,” Detective Hurley said, giving nothing away. “Do I hear Irish in your accent?”

“I’m from New York. My parents came from around here, long time ago. I’m just visiting.”

“How did you come to be at that particular place last night, in Skibbereen?”

“I was taking a walk. No law against that here, is there?” Ray said belligerently.

“No, there is not. Are you staying in Skibbereen, Mr. Finneran?”

For the first time, Ray looked unsure. Apparently he hadn’t prepared for that question. “I hadn’t made up my mind.”

“So you were not sharing a room in Rosscarbery with Mr. Reynolds here? And no one there will recognize you?”

Ray didn’t answer quickly. “I might have done.” He didn’t elaborate.

“How did you get to Skibbereen, then, Mr. Finneran?”

“I drove.” Maura thought that Ray Finneran was sweating now, even though the room was cool.

“And where is your car?”

Definitely sweating, Maura decided.

“It’s parked in town.”

“Can you tell us where?” the detective went on relentlessly.

“I . . . uh . . . well . . .” Ray stumbled.

“Let me save you the trouble. My men report that they have recovered a car reported stolen from the hotel in Rosscarbery. Will we find your fingerprints in it?”

“I want a lawyer,” Ray snarled.

“Very well. You are entitled to representation, of course. Let’s move this discussion to the garda station, shall we? Althea, Nate, I would appreciate it if you would accompany us there.”

Like they had a choice,
Maura thought.

“Uh, okay,” Althea said tentatively. Nate just shrugged.

“Garda Murphy, take Miss Melville and Mr. Reynolds with you. I’ll see to Mr. Finneran.” He turned to the others. “Thank you for your assistance. I’m sure we’ll be speaking again.”

When they were all gone, Maura said, “Well, that was interesting. I wonder what happens next.”

“I know what you mean,” Gillian said. “Harry, what about the painting?”

“What?” Harry said, looking confused.

“The painting, Harry,” Gillian repeated. “What do you think you’ll do with it now?”

“Blast if I know,” Harry said. “I suppose after all this, I’d be happy to be rid of it, but I’ll have to talk to Eveline about it. After all that’s happened, she may be ready to part with it. Do I have to decide right now?”

“Of course you don’t, although you might want to think about getting an alarm system or something, to protect it. But if Althea’s not facing any legal charges, I bet you’ll be hearing from her again.”

Harry rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re probably right. Then if Althea’s not guilty of anything, legally at least, I’ll consider what she proposes. I’m not sure Nate will get off as easily, but there’ll be other ways to sell it, if that’s what Eveline and I decide to do. Will you help me with that part of it, Gilly?”

“Of course.”

“You two can figure that out,” Maura said. “Right now I’ve got to get to work . . . After all this excitement, it’s bound to be a busy night. You two want to come over?” she asked Harry and Gillian.

“I for one could use a drink,” Harry said. “We’ll be along in a bit, right, Gillian?”

“We will,” she replied.

Maura hadn’t realized how much time had passed while they’d been more or less locked in the drawing room at Mycroft House, finally untangling Seamus Daly’s death and maybe the history of the two paintings. It was midafternoon now, and Maura was emotionally exhausted. And that was only from watching the process unfold. She couldn’t imagine how the others felt.

Jimmy Sweeney greeted her when she came into Sullivan’s. “Well, look who’s here. The lady’s finally decided to show her face.”

Maura stalked around the bar and stuffed her bag beneath it. “Put a sock in it, Jimmy. I’ve been over at Mycroft House with the gardaí, sorting out Seamus Daly’s death.”

“Oh-ho! Now you’ve a second job? They’re using consultants such as yourself, since the government can’t afford to pay the gardaí?”

“What’s the right term? ‘Assisting the guards in their inquiries’? Either way, it should be a busy night here. I’m sure everyone will want to know what really happened. Hey, Rose,” Maura said in greeting as Rose emerged from the back room.

“Ah, there you are, Maura. Is everything all right?”

“As right as it can be, with a dead body in the mix. Don’t worry—we worked it out. Busy day?”

“Middling.”

“Well, expect a busy night. Depends on how fast the word gets out, but it moves pretty fast around here, although I still haven’t figured out how. And don’t tell me ‘mobile phone’!”

“Would it be telepathy, then?” Rose suggested, smiling.

“Maybe. I’m going to go say hello to Old Billy there. Does he need another pint yet?”

“No, he says he’s grand for now. I think he’s waiting for a tourist to offer to buy him one so we won’t have to.”

“Smart man, Billy.” Maura crossed the room to Billy’s “throne” near the fireplace. “Hey, Billy. Thanks for the hint.”

Billy smiled. “What hint would that be?”

“Telling me we should talk to Bridget Nolan about Jane Deasy.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“She said that Jane’s sister was still alive, in a nunnery, so we talked to her yesterday, and she pointed us back to Mycroft House. And Eveline Townsend filled in the blanks for us today.”

“About poor Jane?” Billy said softly.

“And the baby, yes. I think I understand why you didn’t just come out and tell me.”

“Ah, that kind of thing is women’s business. So you worked it out in the end?”

“Almost. The child—a boy—was raised by Jane’s sister in New York, and it was his daughter who inherited the painting and kind of started this whole thing.” And indirectly led to Seamus Daly’s death, not that that was Dorothy Ryan’s fault. “Anyway, thank you. You led us to find Seamus’s killer.”

“Glad to be of help,” Billy said, and he asked no more questions.

As Maura made her way back to the bar, stopping to greet a couple of people she recognized, she marveled once again at the invisible network that seemed to link everyone around here. How did it happen that Old Billy should happen to overhear a conversation at Sullivan’s and know enough to send them to the person who held a critical piece of information, which then led them back to where it all began? Maura wondered if she’d ever understand how Ireland worked.

Gillian and Harry came in more than an hour later, as the evening crowd was beginning to build. Rose saw them before Maura and called out, “Gillian, we’ve just sold another one of the paintings!”

Gillian came over to the bar. “Have you, now?”

“Yes, and at the full price. The woman said she’d be back in the morning. Are there more?”